


I Know Why We're Here

by ReginaKatrina



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27701975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReginaKatrina/pseuds/ReginaKatrina
Summary: Kimball had once said that whenever people felt like brooding or having a serious conversation, they’d go down to the lake. The rebel leader had a knack for recognising patterns in people’s behaviour so Simmons stored that information for later in case he needed it.As luck would have it, it finally became useful.
Relationships: Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	I Know Why We're Here

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in 2015 and completely forgot about it until now. It's also my first RvB fic, so I hope you all enjoy!

The slowly setting sun casts a soft golden glow over the mossy green lake, colours shimmering in more of a brilliant emerald as the sun catches it in just the right place. Grabbing another smooth, flat stone from the floor beside him, Simmons sighs as he weighs it in his hand for a couple of seconds. He draws back his arm – the one made of metal – and flings the stone so it skips once, twice, three times on the still surface of the water before splashing one last time and sinking to the bottom of the lake.

Kimball had once said that whenever people felt like brooding or having a serious conversation, they’d go down to the lake. The rebel leader had a knack for recognising patterns in people’s behaviour so Simmons stored that information for later in case he needed it.

As luck would have it, it finally became useful.

It isn’t that Simmons needs to have a serious conversation with someone – although he certainly would benefit from it – he just knows that isn’t going to happen. He wasn’t that lucky. He does, however, appreciate the solitude the tranquil area provides him with. The bustle of the people in the base behind him is barely audible and the view from where he’s sat cross-legged and helmetless on the floor is a transfixing one. Simmons finds himself grateful for the silence.

For the first time in what feels like forever, he can  finally sit down and  not have to listen to the disconcerting blind faith Andersmith has in Caboose, the panic-inducing wheezing of Jensen (Simmons has never been very good at first aid), or the couldn’t-care-less attitude of Bitters. However, the thing that bugs Simmons most is the irritating natter of Matthews fawning over Grif. He isn’t even supposed to  be there , he isn’t even a Lieutenant for fuck’s sake!

Or, well, at least that’s the reason Simmons gives himself for disliking the soldier. He  totally doesn’t hate the guy just because he constantly obsessed over Grif. That’d just be immature.

Simmons sighs again, grabbing another stone and forgoing the well-practiced aim, instead frustratingly lobbing the golf-ball-sized stone into the water. The sizeable splash of bottle green water is satisfying and Simmons finds himself half-smiling as the disrupted water ripples.

“Throw that rock any harder and you might scare the shark that lives in there.”

The sudden voice from behind Simmons has him almost leaping out of his skin (which would have been embarrassing because he probably would’ve fallen into the lake if he’d flinched any harder). He was paying so little attention that he hadn’t even heard the footsteps of the man himself sneaking up behind him.

“There’s no sharks in there, moron.” Simmons snaps, half-turning around to scowl up at the orange-clad captain.

“Yeah there are, Kimball was telling Doyle about it the other day. Apparently that’s why some of the Feds went missing.”

“Okay, not only are we on an  alien planet that doesn’t  have sharks, they also don’t live in fucking  lakes !” Simmons clenches his teeth and turns back to face the lake, breathing calmly for a few seconds. “Anyway, what do you want, Grif?”

“Just wanted to see how you were doing, that’s all.” He replies, walking over to sit down next to Simmons at the edge of the lake. 

“You’re checking up on me?” Simmons asks, an almost incredulous tone to his voice. There is absolutely no way that Grif is  willingly checking up on him; so either he’d been physically threatened to do so by Felix, or Kimball had threatened to change the code to the mess hall again.

“Yep.” Is all he says. He says it so calmly and impassively that Simmons almost wants to throw something at him. Almost. Maybe next time - he’d have to make sure his helmet camera records it. 

“You sure you aren’t just avoiding doing whatever job you’re supposed to be doing?”

“Well, that too.” Grif shrugged, reaching up to unclip and pull off his helmet, setting it on the floor beside him. He lets his feet dangle over the edge as he leans back on his hands and glances casually out over the lake just like Simmons had been doing not five minutes ago. “So, you know why I’m out here. Why are  you out here? Aren’t you usually kissing every single ass within a five mile radius that’s a higher rank than you?”

Simmons lets out an annoyed huff at the insinuation, but doesn’t deny it because a) it is kind of true, and b) he doesn’t have the energy to argue with Grif, especially not right now.

“I kinda like the peace and quiet.”

He answers the question honestly but regrets it the instant he heard Grif’s “oh” of what actually sounds like rejection. “Should I leave?”

“No!” Simmons blurts out almost embarrassingly quickly. He coughs, averting his gaze to stare out over the lake instead and hopes to high hell that Grif can’t see how much his face matches his armour right now. “No, I mean, uh… I don’t mind you.”

“Aw, thanks Simmons, I don’t mind you either.” Grif patronises, sitting upright to shuffle minutely closer to Simmons. He pats him on the back before leaving his arm draped over Simmons’ shoulder. The maroon armour is bulky and even then there’s still a good number of layers between Grif’s arm and Simmons’ shoulder but the action heats his face like nobody’s business nonetheless.

“I mean, being away from everyone else is nice. I can hardly hear myself think when I’m back there, but honestly? I’m so used to constantly being around you that it’d be  really fucking weird if we were separated.” Okay, so it’s confession time. Simmons just  really fucking hopes that he doesn’t make  too big of a fool of himself in doing so. He’d prefer to do this with as little ridicule as possible, thank you very much.

He’s prepared for the worst. He’s been prepared for that damn cancer-curing laugh of disbelief, never-ending mockery, and typically something along the lines of  ‘what the fuck, Simmons!?’

He isn’t been prepared for  this though.

“As weird as it is, I’ve gotta say that I agree.” Grif declares thoughtfully. And it’s an  actual deep-in-thought tone that matched his  actual-deep-in-thought expression and doesn’t think he could ever be happier to be taken seriously for once. “It just wouldn’t be the same without getting to insult you every five minutes.”

And there the seriousness goes.

“Gee. Thanks, Grif.” Simmons grits out, jaw clenched and eyes fixed ahead of him at the lake which is gradually turning from an orange-ish bottle green to a crimson-ish forest green one.

“Nah, I’m bein’ serious though,” Grif insists, tapping a gloved finger on the armour of Simmons’ thigh to get his attention. Simmons turns his head to catch Grif’s gaze, finding himself moderately confused at the genuineness in Grif’s eyes. They almost shone in the iridescent glow of the moonlight from above.  Fuck , he had it bad. “I uh, y’know, um…” The faintest hint of a blush is slowly forming on Grif’s cheeks.

“Y’know what? Fuck it,” Grif mutters under his breath before speaking up. “I like you, okay? I like having your stupid ass around here. I used to wonder why we were here, but now I don’t give a shit because after the shit we’ve been through, it doesn’t fucking  matter why we’re here as long as I get to be here with you. You fucking happy now, asshole?”

“I… you  what!? ” Simmons all but fucking  yelps , voice unnaturally high as it cracks on that last word. “Are you fucking with me?!” Grif  must be fucking with him. There is  no fucking way he’s being serious about that.

“I can barely be bothered to come up with a good enough excuse to get out of training every morning. Do you seriously think that I’d put in the effort to make that shit up just to fuck with you?”

Simmons is completely frozen – mouth open and eyes wide with shock, he can literally do nothing but stare. He actually believes that his robotic parts have malfunctioned for longer than he’d ever confess before he notices that the rest of him wasn’t moving either.

It took Simmons longer than he’d like to admit to actually choke out the words that somehow stuck themselves in his throat. “I don’t know, I really fucking hope not!” His voice was at least six octaves higher than it should have been but he was beyond being embarrassed now; he was completely mortified that everything was spilling out  now of all times, after spending  so many fucking years of awkwardly silent pining and just a little bit longer of actually knowing each other.

“’Cuz I’m not.” Grif says, and he says it so calmly and honestly that Simmons probably would have believed it if someone told him that this isn’t Grif. Grif is never this heartfelt about anything; he wasn’t even this emotional after eating the last Oreo of a packet. And that happened a  lot . “Jesus fucking Christ, do I have to prove it to you?”

“Uhhhh…” Simmons’ words have just stopped. There are a thousand things he wants to blurt out right now but he can’t. None of them are making it past his mouth.

“I guess I’ll take that as a yes,” Grif says, and now he’s leaning forwards and Simmons finds that there’s another reason he can’t speak. And that’s because Grif’s lips are softly brushing against his own tentatively once before kissing him firmly and  finally, fucking finally .

It’s nothing more than the innocent press of lips against one another, but Simmons sighs in satisfaction anyway and tilts his head reflexively. It’s more than he could have ever hoped for. There’s a pleasant sensation in his chest and he feels like he could float away and melt and implode all at once. Luckily Grif’s there to ground him with one more chaste kiss before he pulls back.

Simmons can’t help himself but grin widely at the man beside him. He’s wearing that lazy smirk he always does but there’s a distinct sparkle in his eyes. It’s one Simmons hasn’t seen before but he  really wants to see it more often; it’s obviously a sparkle and a smile reserved for especially special occasions. Simmons’ heart flutters as he thought of how privileged he is to have the opportunity to witness the orange captain this elated and carefree and genuine.

“What the hell are you two doing out here? You  know you have to be up early for training tomorrow.” Kimball’s voice from almost directly behind Simmons elicits a yelp of fear from him – fear of both the suddenness of her presence and Kimball herself. 

“Sorry, we were just heading back to base.” Simmons scrambles to his feet and unceremoniously shoves his helmet back on. He  really hopes that Kimball doesn’t notice how his face is as red as his armour or how close he and Grif had been sat.

“Oh you  were , were you?” Kimball queries with a distinct tone of disbelief. Oh  fuck , maybe she  did know what had just happened.

“Yup. What he said.” Grif lazily drawls, pulling his helmet back on and nodding at Simmons. Kimball lowers her head at Grif in that weirdly intimidating way she often does to show that she’s frowning beneath the helmet. Then she turns to Simmons with the exact same glare.

“Well, you better get going then.” Kimball calmly replies - it sounds like a suggestion but it’s clearly an order - stepping to the side for Simmons and Grif to briskly walk back to the base. Simmons may have had his head down the entire time to avoid looking directly at Kimball, and he was glad that Grif hadn’t seemed to notice.

Only when they’re out of Kimball’s earshot does Grif bump his shoulder against Simmons’. “Dude, relax. She probably didn’t see anything. She likes going on those late night patrols to make sure everyone’s doing what they’re s’posed to be doing.”

“You sure?” Simmons asks, wringing his hands together as they walk back to their respective bedrooms (which are conveniently opposite one another in the hallway of rooms designated for the captains). “N-not that I’m ashamed or anything. I just- I’m- I don’t-  fuck .”

Simmons tears off his helmet and holds it in his metal arm, his human one raking through his hair in frustration. Fuck, he didn’t want to fuck this up. He  couldn’t fuck this up. He seldom liked fucking up anyway – he’d do anything to please his superiors – but this was like the number one on the list of ‘do not fuck up’. 

“Dude, you’re pretty fucking cute when you’re nervous.” Grif remarks, and Simmons can practically  hear the smirk on his face; his thoughts are only confirmed once Grif removes his own helmet, casually holding it under one arm.

“I’m  what?! ” There is  no way Grif just said that. Dexter Grif is a Manly Man ™ , he doesn’t call people cute even if his life depends on it.

“Oh my god, just fucking shut up and let me kiss you again, asshole.” Grif says in a half-assed snappy tone before he hooks a finger under part of Simmons’ chestpiece to pull him forward, their lips connecting once again. Simmons lets himself be led into Grif’s room, lets his armour be haphazardly removed (he’ll berate Grif for the carelessness in the morning), and lets Grif yank him down onto the slightly lumpy mattress before enveloping him in a warm embrace.

The kiss pressed to the top of his head is unexpected but Simmons welcomes it. In fact,  all of this is unexpected but Simmons relishes in the comfort he honestly didn’t think Grif was physically capable of providing. Try as he might, he still can’t wipe the giddy smile off his face as he buries it in the crook of Grif’s shoulder – the one that was actually Grif’s and not his own – before letting his eyes fall closed. 

“G’night Simmons.”

“Night, Grif.”


End file.
